The crops of Canaan
Commentary
One night, prowling the corners of a Christian bookstore, I stumbled past the Max Lucado, Dan Jenkins, and Janette Oke books to find myself before a display meant not to be read, but eaten: Christian candy. I kid you not. Chocolate peanut bars labeled, "Taste and see that the Lord is good." Noah's Ark gummy animals. Scripture mints. And my favorite, the "Bible Bar," the all-natural food bar containing all the foods mentioned in Deuteronomy 8:8 -- wheat, barley, honey, figs, olive oil, grapes and pomegranates -- for only $1.95! (also available in powder, meal-replacement form).
While the Bible never mentions candy, it talks a lot about eating. The people of Israel celebrated their deliverance by cooking up a feast. The prophets told of God's final banquet. Jesus was criticized for his eating companions, tax collectors and sinners. Paul in turn criticized Peter for his lack of table fellowship with Gentiles, and also spent several chapters instructing the Corinthians in table etiquette (see Galatians 2; 1 Corinthians 8-11). In the book of Acts, food became such an issue that a new order of ministry is introduced, and a church council convened (Acts 6, 11-15).
The Bible talks about eating so often, because eating is never just biological. It is about our souls as well as our bodies. As the old commercial had it, Wonder Bread may "build strong bodies twelve ways," but the real wonder is how God presides over the table to build human beings spiritually in countless ways.
Joshua 5:9-12
The people of Israel crossed the Jordan and camped in Gilgal (see Joshua 3:14--4:18), an important shrine in the early history of Israel (cf. 1 Samuel 10:1-8; 11:14-15; 13:8-14; 15:21; 2 Samuel 19:15, 40). "Gilgal" sounds like the Hebrew verb "to roll," and there is perhaps a pun on the rolling away of the twelve memorial stones in Joshua 5:9, "Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt." There is an explicit comparison to Moses when the people once more walk across water as if on dry ground (4:23). The 12 memorial stones at the entrance to the Promised Land are no common cultic stones, but commemorate the entire movement from slavery to freedom; when children ask, "What do these stones mean?" the reply will be that they stand "so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty" (4:21-24).
To mark this passage, the people renew the covenant. First, the covenant is renewed through circumcision; no one was circumcised in the wilderness, and in fact the entire older generation, who had lived in Egypt, had died out in punishment for not listening to the voice of the Lord (5:2-8). Second, and most importantly for our theme this week, the new generation eats -- it celebrates its first Passover, on the evening of the fourteenth of the month, in the plains of Jericho (5:10; cf. Exodus 12:6; Leviticus 23:5). Israel has come full circle, once again observing the rite that opened this grand trek from Egypt. As so often in Israel's history, the people get a fresh start with a new commitment to God's covenant.
The renewed Passover is linked to the promise of the new land, for they eat the crops of Canaan. The "land of milk and honey" gives them unleavened bread and parched grain (5:11). The manna is discontinued, for it will not be needed. God's provision for the people is now complete; the land that is promised will provide for them. God's care for Israel has indeed come full circle, from the plenitude of Egypt, out of the wilderness, and back into a land of plenty. Israel has moved from a disordered state (the wilderness) to one of order (the Promised Land); the memorial stones and the obedience to the law testify to their new sense of order. The crossing into Canaan marks the transition from chaos to care, from wilderness to home. Israel is like a prodigal child returning home as a guest of honor.
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
A new beginning is implied in the Pauline expression "in Christ," which denotes not just an individual experience, but the communal embrace of a risen Lord. This section of 2 Corinthians is usually considered to be one of the earlier parts of what is a composite letter (2:14--7:4). Paul defines and defends his apostleship as "treasure in clay jars" (4:7). The foundation of Paul's ministry is love (5:14). The focus of that ministry is the "message of reconciliation" (5:19). The irony of the situation is that Paul is obviously not sure where he stands in respect to the Corinthians, especially where it concerns his Jerusalem offering project, and so he must defend his own ministry as one of reconciliation, both in the broader sense, and in terms of his own relationship to them.
The new beginning found "in Christ" is a "new creation" (5:16-17). Paul uses a lesser-to-greater argument to make his point: we no longer look, Paul says, kata sarka, which means literally "according to the flesh," and probably embraces something of what the NRSV implies with its translation, "according to a human point of view." The view kata sarka is not only inadequate but biased from the wrong point of view; Paul would rather look "according to the Spirit" or even "according to the cross." From that point of view, the usual worldly distinctions between Jew and Gentile, slave and free, male and female do not matter, for we are all one "in Christ" (Galatians 3:28). If we do not look kata sarka in any way, Paul says, we certainly do not see Christ kata sarka; that is to say, we do not make an assessment based on appearances, as we might have before becoming "in Christ."
We look anew, because we are a part of a "new creation" (the expression could be translated "new creature," but Paul is speaking of something bigger and more inclusive than the individual). Being "in Christ" means being a part of a new Eden; Paul draws on apocalyptic thought to describe the replacement of the old with the new. This is not merely a re-creation, but a whole new creation, where the new transcends everything old; it is a radical transformation "in Christ" that reorders all values and priorities.
To be "in Christ" is to experience reconciliation with God (vv. 18-19). Reconciliation is what God is doing in Christ; the action is God's, with Christ as agent. God is seeking but does not need reconciliation; this is not the reconciliation of two hostile parties, but the patient attempt of one to win over the resistance of another. God does not need to be reconciled to us, but vice versa.
Our reconciliation to God specifically happens through the death of Christ (vv. 18-19, 21). There is a transfer of sin from sinners to the sinless one, and so God is "not counting trespasses against them" (v. 19, 1:3-7; 4:12; 5:12; Romans 4:8). In turn, the sinners are imparted the righteousness that comes from and belongs to God (Romans 1:17; 3:5, 21-22, 25-26; 10:3; Philippians 3:9). The complicated statement in verse 21 tells us that this transfer was done "for our sake or benefit" or "in our place." Jesus' sinlessness is mentioned more than once in the New Testament (John 7:18; 8:46; Hebrews 4:15; 7:26; 1 Peter 1:19; 2:22; 3:18; 1 John 3:5). That he was "made sin" has been variously taken as that he assumed our sinful nature, or that God treated the sinless Jesus as if he were a sinner, or that Jesus became a sacrifice for sin. Paul doesn't specify what he means, and it is probably best to think of this transfer as a general identification of Christ with human beings who are at odds with God. Such an interchange of moral and spiritual values was a common idea in the ancient world (cf. Daniel 6:24; Leviticus 4:3; Isaiah 53:4-6; 2 Maccabees 7:37-38).
The apostle shares Christ's work in the ministry of reconciliation. This ministry does not bring about reconciliation, but exists because God is at work reconciling us. Paul describes those participating in the ministry of reconciliation as "ambassadors" or "envoys" of Christ (v. 20). The envoy carries a message from another, and is sent with full authority. He does not effect the reconciliation, but merely announces it. Thus God is making an appeal through us, Paul says: "Be reconciled to God."
Paul here lays down the theological framework that underlies his ministry, as well as the story we read in Joshua of Israel entering the Promised Land: God is in the business of reconciling us humans. This theme is worked out in narrative form in our gospel parable.
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Jesus' long journey to Jerusalem encompasses much of Luke's Gospel (9:51--19:44). During this trip, he addresses alternately his disciples, the crowd, and his enemies. The three parables in chapter 15 are directed specifically against his enemies, who were grumbling that "this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them" (v. 2), that is to say, he ignored the usual social and religious boundaries between the respectable and the ignoble (and thus, in his enemies' opinion, hacked away at the very roots of society). The three parables, concerning the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son, not only have a common audience, but also a common theme and a common structure; the theme is the recovery of the lost, and the movement is from loss to recovery, restoration, and celebration. The chapter builds to a climax in the final parable, found only in Luke, which not only hits hard at those who would restrict table fellowship, but also touches typical Lukan themes such as the proper use of possessions, divine love, finding the lost, and the grumbling of the self-righteous. Despite the obvious reflection of Lukan concerns, most scholars see in this parable no little echo of the master's original voice.
The parable is laid out in two parts, each with several scenes. In 15:11-24, the younger son goes and returns. In verses 25-32, the focus shifts to the older son's objections. In both cases, the spotlight is on the father's reaction; the father is thus the main character in the story, and provides its unity.
The father is presumably a well-off Jewish landowner. The younger son's request for his share of the property is an outrageous breach of family protocol, but it was apparently within his rights to take a third portion of the estate, with the elder son getting the remaining two-thirds. However, the inheritance laws are unclear, since all our sources come from a later period, and the logic is not entirely clear either, since the father still has a farm at the end of the story. Like many a legal thriller, the niceties of the law take a back seat to storytelling.
The younger son converts his third to cash, adding the insult of breaking up the family holdings to the injury of cutting family bonds. His action means exposing the rift for all to see, bringing shame and dishonor on the father. A trip to exotic Gentile lands ensues, where a dissolute attitude (literally, "living without control," v. 13) leads to dissolute spending. The younger son proves a fundamental law of economics: things that can't go on forever, won't. His impoverishment is hastened by local famine; the exotic land turns out to be the wrong place at the wrong time. The younger son shows again that what you eat, counts, as he longs to sup on animal feed. His new job symbolizes the depth of his descent, for as you know, Jews and pigs have never been close. Among the Greeks and Romans, almsgiving was little practiced, and with the famine on top of all else, it is no wonder that "no one gave him anything" (v. 16).
His re-ascent to his father's house begins with an expression of surprising psychological acuity: "He came to himself" (v. 17). His repentant speech sparkles with newfound theological insight, using the language of resurrection: "I will get up...." He recognizes the connection of God with the treatment of fellow human beings when he says, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and you" (v. 18). Knowing the peril of his situation, he is willing to reconstrue his relationship with his father as that of a master and a hired hand (v. 19). Even so, he is counting on compassion from his father, with whom he had already completely settled accounts.
Certainly the son was not prepared for the outpouring of love that interrupted his penitence. That the father saw him from a long way off means that he was looking (v. 20). His undignified run to embrace his son would have been a very public act, given the layout of a typical Palestinian village, and stands in contrast with the son's earlier public repudiation of his family. The father's joy at receiving back his son is palpable. The festive clothes, festive food, and jewelry signify an honored guest (vv. 22-23). Meat was a luxury; the grain-fattened calf would have been intended for some future celebration. Ironically, the animal served to the lost-now-found son had been fed with plenty of those pods he had once longed for. Such food symbolizes the overarching significance of a son resurrected from the dead, lost and found.
Meanwhile, the elder son is working in the field that is presumably his, but still belongs to the father. He finds out what has happened from a slave, and assumes himself the attitude of a slave. In his anger, he refuses to go into the banquet, thus not only refusing table fellowship, but also neglecting his social duties as eldest son and host. He exaggerates the younger son's behavior; he cannot possibly know what he has done with the money, let alone that he "devoured your property with prostitutes" (v. 30; note again the food metaphor). He complains that of all the great estate left to him, he has not received even a scrawny goat, let alone a fatted calf (v. 29). Even his choice of words expresses his alienation: "This son of yours" (v. 30). The irony is that he is now being the disobedient son, despite his claims. He is acting like the slave the younger son was so recently willing to become. He even says so: "For all these years I have been working like a slave for you!" (v. 29).
The father's response to the older son parallels that to the younger: he comes out to meet his son (v. 28). He points out the obvious: what is left of the estate belongs to him, since the younger has already had his share. But the father takes issue with the son's self-characterization; far from being a slave, he has been in a constant state of privilege: "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours" (v. 31). The father's love has never left him, because it's not a win/lose situation, where giving to one means taking from another. The magnitude of the situation demands joy and celebration, "because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found" (v. 32).
The story is left open-ended; we don't know what the elder son did next. Of course, we do know what the enemies of Jesus in Luke did next. We who read the story later must ask how we would respond to such an outrageous father, who lavishes attention on the lost, when we good folk have been patiently tilling the fields.
Application
The Fourth Sunday in Lent is traditionally called "Refreshment Sunday," and celebrated with a break from fasting. This break in the routine reminds us that eating is never just eating. Food is God's providence, as it was for Israel in the Promised Land. It is a sign of God's faithfulness, as God continues to be at work reconciling us (and not the other way around). Eating is also a sign of our communal connection, as it was for those tax collectors and sinners who reclined at table with Jesus. That some elder sons refuse to come to the table does not make God's reconciliation null and void, however much it may sadden the rest of us sitting there.
Someone once said, "It's hard to be mad with someone you are eating with." The table is a force of reconciliation. God sits us there, not because God needs to eat, but because we need to. What God lays before us makes us stronger, both as individuals and as a community. It makes us more than we were before. As hungry for love, meaning, and connection as we humans obviously are, who could resist all that the Lord has to offer?
Alternative Applications
1) Joshua 5:9-12; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32. God rolls away the disgrace. "Gilgal" was aptly named, for at Gilgal was rolled away 40 years of pointless wandering. The people were reconciled to God through circumcision and the celebration of the Passover. God rolled away the disgrace of all of us when the sinless Jesus was made sin on our behalf. Like a waiting, loving father holding out arms of acceptance, we walk into a life of grace, not disgrace, as children, not slaves. Like the stone before the tomb, God rolls away our disgrace.
2) Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32. Possessions tell the tale. The whole story is a story about what the father and his sons have. The younger son went from having to not having to having again more than ever. He took what was his, regardless of the feelings of his family. He lost what was his, and no one gave him anything. He longed for the food of beasts. He "came to himself" as if his self was a possession that he had lost (in a way, it was). His repentance is couched in the language of possession, only now he is willing to have things not like a son, but like a slave.
The elder son in turn was disgruntled not only with his own possessions, but those of the younger. He exaggerates and mischaracterizes the younger's use of possessions. Ironically, though he owns the whole estate, he cannot see his way clear to take even a goat for himself (what, he couldn't ask?). He considers himself to be property -- a slave. He even repudiates his brother as if he were something his father owned: "This son of yours."
The father represents the proper attitude toward what one owns. He does not own either son, and is willing to give them their freedom, even to the point of losing them. He offers what he has in celebration of their return. He offers to both what they are properly due. His generosity symbolizes God's gracious provision to humanity. His actions speak to the truth of the saying: What you do with what you have expresses how you are before God.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 32
In the powerful 1995 film The Mission, Robert De Niro plays a violent slave trader who has killed his own brother. Though not a religious person, De Niro's character nevertheless turns to a local priest to help him deal with the terrible guilt of his awful deed. The priest, it turns out, is a missionary to the very tribe of natives that De Niro, the slave trader, has raided over the years. As part of his penance, the priest tells De Niro he must serve the very natives he had previously preyed upon. As an additional element of penance, De Niro takes all of his implements of war -- his sword, shield, armor, and so on -- ties them in a huge net bag and drags the heavy bundle through the jungle on his way to the mission.
In order to get to where the tribe lives De Niro must climb a sheer cliff. The burden of his implements of violence nearly pulls him off the cliff several times during the climb. As he reaches the top, tribal leaders recognize him as the slave trader who has captured many men from their group. They ask the priest why he has brought this dangerous man into their midst.
The priest tells them that De Niro is repenting of his violence and is not a threat to them. When they point out the swords, knives, and armor, the priest tells them it is part of De Niro's penance -- to carry the very items of death that had killed his brother.
One of the tribal leaders thinks about this for a moment and then does an amazing act of kindness. Taking his own knife from its sheath, the tribesman cuts the rope that ties the heavy bag to De Niro's weight. The heavy burden crashes down the cliff. De Niro, realizing he has been set free by the very people he has oppressed, begins to weep uncontrollably.
The visual symbolism of the slave trader suddenly being free from his sins was stunning. It was possible to feel vicariously the moment of release and the flood of gratitude that he expressed.
The psalmist's words do much the same. He deftly describes the effects of guilt on the human soul. As we keep our failure in, it makes us weak; we feel the heavy weight of its presence.
But when we are able to experience the forgiveness of God, the burden slips away. We feel relief and release. A sense of euphoria sweeps over the psalmist as he contemplates his new state of being. "Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered" (v. 1).
Most people who are aware of their failures know the agony of guilt. But weighted down with guilt is a poor way to live. Better to admit our failure (v. 5). God already knows anyway. The psalmist believes that as we confess our sin to God we release the hold our guilt has on us. And as we accept God's forgiveness, we discover that we have been set free in the depths of our lives.
While the Bible never mentions candy, it talks a lot about eating. The people of Israel celebrated their deliverance by cooking up a feast. The prophets told of God's final banquet. Jesus was criticized for his eating companions, tax collectors and sinners. Paul in turn criticized Peter for his lack of table fellowship with Gentiles, and also spent several chapters instructing the Corinthians in table etiquette (see Galatians 2; 1 Corinthians 8-11). In the book of Acts, food became such an issue that a new order of ministry is introduced, and a church council convened (Acts 6, 11-15).
The Bible talks about eating so often, because eating is never just biological. It is about our souls as well as our bodies. As the old commercial had it, Wonder Bread may "build strong bodies twelve ways," but the real wonder is how God presides over the table to build human beings spiritually in countless ways.
Joshua 5:9-12
The people of Israel crossed the Jordan and camped in Gilgal (see Joshua 3:14--4:18), an important shrine in the early history of Israel (cf. 1 Samuel 10:1-8; 11:14-15; 13:8-14; 15:21; 2 Samuel 19:15, 40). "Gilgal" sounds like the Hebrew verb "to roll," and there is perhaps a pun on the rolling away of the twelve memorial stones in Joshua 5:9, "Today I have rolled away from you the disgrace of Egypt." There is an explicit comparison to Moses when the people once more walk across water as if on dry ground (4:23). The 12 memorial stones at the entrance to the Promised Land are no common cultic stones, but commemorate the entire movement from slavery to freedom; when children ask, "What do these stones mean?" the reply will be that they stand "so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty" (4:21-24).
To mark this passage, the people renew the covenant. First, the covenant is renewed through circumcision; no one was circumcised in the wilderness, and in fact the entire older generation, who had lived in Egypt, had died out in punishment for not listening to the voice of the Lord (5:2-8). Second, and most importantly for our theme this week, the new generation eats -- it celebrates its first Passover, on the evening of the fourteenth of the month, in the plains of Jericho (5:10; cf. Exodus 12:6; Leviticus 23:5). Israel has come full circle, once again observing the rite that opened this grand trek from Egypt. As so often in Israel's history, the people get a fresh start with a new commitment to God's covenant.
The renewed Passover is linked to the promise of the new land, for they eat the crops of Canaan. The "land of milk and honey" gives them unleavened bread and parched grain (5:11). The manna is discontinued, for it will not be needed. God's provision for the people is now complete; the land that is promised will provide for them. God's care for Israel has indeed come full circle, from the plenitude of Egypt, out of the wilderness, and back into a land of plenty. Israel has moved from a disordered state (the wilderness) to one of order (the Promised Land); the memorial stones and the obedience to the law testify to their new sense of order. The crossing into Canaan marks the transition from chaos to care, from wilderness to home. Israel is like a prodigal child returning home as a guest of honor.
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
A new beginning is implied in the Pauline expression "in Christ," which denotes not just an individual experience, but the communal embrace of a risen Lord. This section of 2 Corinthians is usually considered to be one of the earlier parts of what is a composite letter (2:14--7:4). Paul defines and defends his apostleship as "treasure in clay jars" (4:7). The foundation of Paul's ministry is love (5:14). The focus of that ministry is the "message of reconciliation" (5:19). The irony of the situation is that Paul is obviously not sure where he stands in respect to the Corinthians, especially where it concerns his Jerusalem offering project, and so he must defend his own ministry as one of reconciliation, both in the broader sense, and in terms of his own relationship to them.
The new beginning found "in Christ" is a "new creation" (5:16-17). Paul uses a lesser-to-greater argument to make his point: we no longer look, Paul says, kata sarka, which means literally "according to the flesh," and probably embraces something of what the NRSV implies with its translation, "according to a human point of view." The view kata sarka is not only inadequate but biased from the wrong point of view; Paul would rather look "according to the Spirit" or even "according to the cross." From that point of view, the usual worldly distinctions between Jew and Gentile, slave and free, male and female do not matter, for we are all one "in Christ" (Galatians 3:28). If we do not look kata sarka in any way, Paul says, we certainly do not see Christ kata sarka; that is to say, we do not make an assessment based on appearances, as we might have before becoming "in Christ."
We look anew, because we are a part of a "new creation" (the expression could be translated "new creature," but Paul is speaking of something bigger and more inclusive than the individual). Being "in Christ" means being a part of a new Eden; Paul draws on apocalyptic thought to describe the replacement of the old with the new. This is not merely a re-creation, but a whole new creation, where the new transcends everything old; it is a radical transformation "in Christ" that reorders all values and priorities.
To be "in Christ" is to experience reconciliation with God (vv. 18-19). Reconciliation is what God is doing in Christ; the action is God's, with Christ as agent. God is seeking but does not need reconciliation; this is not the reconciliation of two hostile parties, but the patient attempt of one to win over the resistance of another. God does not need to be reconciled to us, but vice versa.
Our reconciliation to God specifically happens through the death of Christ (vv. 18-19, 21). There is a transfer of sin from sinners to the sinless one, and so God is "not counting trespasses against them" (v. 19, 1:3-7; 4:12; 5:12; Romans 4:8). In turn, the sinners are imparted the righteousness that comes from and belongs to God (Romans 1:17; 3:5, 21-22, 25-26; 10:3; Philippians 3:9). The complicated statement in verse 21 tells us that this transfer was done "for our sake or benefit" or "in our place." Jesus' sinlessness is mentioned more than once in the New Testament (John 7:18; 8:46; Hebrews 4:15; 7:26; 1 Peter 1:19; 2:22; 3:18; 1 John 3:5). That he was "made sin" has been variously taken as that he assumed our sinful nature, or that God treated the sinless Jesus as if he were a sinner, or that Jesus became a sacrifice for sin. Paul doesn't specify what he means, and it is probably best to think of this transfer as a general identification of Christ with human beings who are at odds with God. Such an interchange of moral and spiritual values was a common idea in the ancient world (cf. Daniel 6:24; Leviticus 4:3; Isaiah 53:4-6; 2 Maccabees 7:37-38).
The apostle shares Christ's work in the ministry of reconciliation. This ministry does not bring about reconciliation, but exists because God is at work reconciling us. Paul describes those participating in the ministry of reconciliation as "ambassadors" or "envoys" of Christ (v. 20). The envoy carries a message from another, and is sent with full authority. He does not effect the reconciliation, but merely announces it. Thus God is making an appeal through us, Paul says: "Be reconciled to God."
Paul here lays down the theological framework that underlies his ministry, as well as the story we read in Joshua of Israel entering the Promised Land: God is in the business of reconciling us humans. This theme is worked out in narrative form in our gospel parable.
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
Jesus' long journey to Jerusalem encompasses much of Luke's Gospel (9:51--19:44). During this trip, he addresses alternately his disciples, the crowd, and his enemies. The three parables in chapter 15 are directed specifically against his enemies, who were grumbling that "this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them" (v. 2), that is to say, he ignored the usual social and religious boundaries between the respectable and the ignoble (and thus, in his enemies' opinion, hacked away at the very roots of society). The three parables, concerning the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son, not only have a common audience, but also a common theme and a common structure; the theme is the recovery of the lost, and the movement is from loss to recovery, restoration, and celebration. The chapter builds to a climax in the final parable, found only in Luke, which not only hits hard at those who would restrict table fellowship, but also touches typical Lukan themes such as the proper use of possessions, divine love, finding the lost, and the grumbling of the self-righteous. Despite the obvious reflection of Lukan concerns, most scholars see in this parable no little echo of the master's original voice.
The parable is laid out in two parts, each with several scenes. In 15:11-24, the younger son goes and returns. In verses 25-32, the focus shifts to the older son's objections. In both cases, the spotlight is on the father's reaction; the father is thus the main character in the story, and provides its unity.
The father is presumably a well-off Jewish landowner. The younger son's request for his share of the property is an outrageous breach of family protocol, but it was apparently within his rights to take a third portion of the estate, with the elder son getting the remaining two-thirds. However, the inheritance laws are unclear, since all our sources come from a later period, and the logic is not entirely clear either, since the father still has a farm at the end of the story. Like many a legal thriller, the niceties of the law take a back seat to storytelling.
The younger son converts his third to cash, adding the insult of breaking up the family holdings to the injury of cutting family bonds. His action means exposing the rift for all to see, bringing shame and dishonor on the father. A trip to exotic Gentile lands ensues, where a dissolute attitude (literally, "living without control," v. 13) leads to dissolute spending. The younger son proves a fundamental law of economics: things that can't go on forever, won't. His impoverishment is hastened by local famine; the exotic land turns out to be the wrong place at the wrong time. The younger son shows again that what you eat, counts, as he longs to sup on animal feed. His new job symbolizes the depth of his descent, for as you know, Jews and pigs have never been close. Among the Greeks and Romans, almsgiving was little practiced, and with the famine on top of all else, it is no wonder that "no one gave him anything" (v. 16).
His re-ascent to his father's house begins with an expression of surprising psychological acuity: "He came to himself" (v. 17). His repentant speech sparkles with newfound theological insight, using the language of resurrection: "I will get up...." He recognizes the connection of God with the treatment of fellow human beings when he says, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and you" (v. 18). Knowing the peril of his situation, he is willing to reconstrue his relationship with his father as that of a master and a hired hand (v. 19). Even so, he is counting on compassion from his father, with whom he had already completely settled accounts.
Certainly the son was not prepared for the outpouring of love that interrupted his penitence. That the father saw him from a long way off means that he was looking (v. 20). His undignified run to embrace his son would have been a very public act, given the layout of a typical Palestinian village, and stands in contrast with the son's earlier public repudiation of his family. The father's joy at receiving back his son is palpable. The festive clothes, festive food, and jewelry signify an honored guest (vv. 22-23). Meat was a luxury; the grain-fattened calf would have been intended for some future celebration. Ironically, the animal served to the lost-now-found son had been fed with plenty of those pods he had once longed for. Such food symbolizes the overarching significance of a son resurrected from the dead, lost and found.
Meanwhile, the elder son is working in the field that is presumably his, but still belongs to the father. He finds out what has happened from a slave, and assumes himself the attitude of a slave. In his anger, he refuses to go into the banquet, thus not only refusing table fellowship, but also neglecting his social duties as eldest son and host. He exaggerates the younger son's behavior; he cannot possibly know what he has done with the money, let alone that he "devoured your property with prostitutes" (v. 30; note again the food metaphor). He complains that of all the great estate left to him, he has not received even a scrawny goat, let alone a fatted calf (v. 29). Even his choice of words expresses his alienation: "This son of yours" (v. 30). The irony is that he is now being the disobedient son, despite his claims. He is acting like the slave the younger son was so recently willing to become. He even says so: "For all these years I have been working like a slave for you!" (v. 29).
The father's response to the older son parallels that to the younger: he comes out to meet his son (v. 28). He points out the obvious: what is left of the estate belongs to him, since the younger has already had his share. But the father takes issue with the son's self-characterization; far from being a slave, he has been in a constant state of privilege: "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours" (v. 31). The father's love has never left him, because it's not a win/lose situation, where giving to one means taking from another. The magnitude of the situation demands joy and celebration, "because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found" (v. 32).
The story is left open-ended; we don't know what the elder son did next. Of course, we do know what the enemies of Jesus in Luke did next. We who read the story later must ask how we would respond to such an outrageous father, who lavishes attention on the lost, when we good folk have been patiently tilling the fields.
Application
The Fourth Sunday in Lent is traditionally called "Refreshment Sunday," and celebrated with a break from fasting. This break in the routine reminds us that eating is never just eating. Food is God's providence, as it was for Israel in the Promised Land. It is a sign of God's faithfulness, as God continues to be at work reconciling us (and not the other way around). Eating is also a sign of our communal connection, as it was for those tax collectors and sinners who reclined at table with Jesus. That some elder sons refuse to come to the table does not make God's reconciliation null and void, however much it may sadden the rest of us sitting there.
Someone once said, "It's hard to be mad with someone you are eating with." The table is a force of reconciliation. God sits us there, not because God needs to eat, but because we need to. What God lays before us makes us stronger, both as individuals and as a community. It makes us more than we were before. As hungry for love, meaning, and connection as we humans obviously are, who could resist all that the Lord has to offer?
Alternative Applications
1) Joshua 5:9-12; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32. God rolls away the disgrace. "Gilgal" was aptly named, for at Gilgal was rolled away 40 years of pointless wandering. The people were reconciled to God through circumcision and the celebration of the Passover. God rolled away the disgrace of all of us when the sinless Jesus was made sin on our behalf. Like a waiting, loving father holding out arms of acceptance, we walk into a life of grace, not disgrace, as children, not slaves. Like the stone before the tomb, God rolls away our disgrace.
2) Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32. Possessions tell the tale. The whole story is a story about what the father and his sons have. The younger son went from having to not having to having again more than ever. He took what was his, regardless of the feelings of his family. He lost what was his, and no one gave him anything. He longed for the food of beasts. He "came to himself" as if his self was a possession that he had lost (in a way, it was). His repentance is couched in the language of possession, only now he is willing to have things not like a son, but like a slave.
The elder son in turn was disgruntled not only with his own possessions, but those of the younger. He exaggerates and mischaracterizes the younger's use of possessions. Ironically, though he owns the whole estate, he cannot see his way clear to take even a goat for himself (what, he couldn't ask?). He considers himself to be property -- a slave. He even repudiates his brother as if he were something his father owned: "This son of yours."
The father represents the proper attitude toward what one owns. He does not own either son, and is willing to give them their freedom, even to the point of losing them. He offers what he has in celebration of their return. He offers to both what they are properly due. His generosity symbolizes God's gracious provision to humanity. His actions speak to the truth of the saying: What you do with what you have expresses how you are before God.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 32
In the powerful 1995 film The Mission, Robert De Niro plays a violent slave trader who has killed his own brother. Though not a religious person, De Niro's character nevertheless turns to a local priest to help him deal with the terrible guilt of his awful deed. The priest, it turns out, is a missionary to the very tribe of natives that De Niro, the slave trader, has raided over the years. As part of his penance, the priest tells De Niro he must serve the very natives he had previously preyed upon. As an additional element of penance, De Niro takes all of his implements of war -- his sword, shield, armor, and so on -- ties them in a huge net bag and drags the heavy bundle through the jungle on his way to the mission.
In order to get to where the tribe lives De Niro must climb a sheer cliff. The burden of his implements of violence nearly pulls him off the cliff several times during the climb. As he reaches the top, tribal leaders recognize him as the slave trader who has captured many men from their group. They ask the priest why he has brought this dangerous man into their midst.
The priest tells them that De Niro is repenting of his violence and is not a threat to them. When they point out the swords, knives, and armor, the priest tells them it is part of De Niro's penance -- to carry the very items of death that had killed his brother.
One of the tribal leaders thinks about this for a moment and then does an amazing act of kindness. Taking his own knife from its sheath, the tribesman cuts the rope that ties the heavy bag to De Niro's weight. The heavy burden crashes down the cliff. De Niro, realizing he has been set free by the very people he has oppressed, begins to weep uncontrollably.
The visual symbolism of the slave trader suddenly being free from his sins was stunning. It was possible to feel vicariously the moment of release and the flood of gratitude that he expressed.
The psalmist's words do much the same. He deftly describes the effects of guilt on the human soul. As we keep our failure in, it makes us weak; we feel the heavy weight of its presence.
But when we are able to experience the forgiveness of God, the burden slips away. We feel relief and release. A sense of euphoria sweeps over the psalmist as he contemplates his new state of being. "Happy are those whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered" (v. 1).
Most people who are aware of their failures know the agony of guilt. But weighted down with guilt is a poor way to live. Better to admit our failure (v. 5). God already knows anyway. The psalmist believes that as we confess our sin to God we release the hold our guilt has on us. And as we accept God's forgiveness, we discover that we have been set free in the depths of our lives.
